


Savoureux

by shotgunsinlace



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Blood and Gore, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Emotional Manipulation, Explicit Sexual Content, Ficlet Collection, Food is People, M/M, Mental Instability, Minor Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-14 12:51:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3411299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shotgunsinlace/pseuds/shotgunsinlace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>FBI Agent Eren Jaeger is both gifted and cursed with an extraordinary ability: he can think and see exactly like the serial killers he hunts, but this isn't without consequence. While pursuing a cannibalistic murderer, Special Agent Levi Ackerman teams Jaeger up with the highly respected psychiatrist that goes by the name of Dr. Erwin Smith, a man with a taste for the criminally minded.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Apéritif

**Author's Note:**

> Time for [Eruriren Week Round 2](http://erurirenweek.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> Similar to last time, here's a chronological ficlet collection, this time based on NBC's Hannibal (which I'm currently obsessed with). Please heed the warnings above as this collection will include content that may be triggering to some so please read responsibly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day #1: Faith

Beats of three.

Everything comes in beats of three.

Three swings of a fluorescent pendulum that pulls back the curtains shielding a spectacle of gruesome horror. 

Three murdered girls. 

Three seconds to control his breathing, and three seconds to catch himself before the fall.

“The Chesapeake Ripper kills in sounders of three.” Pressing the button on the remote, the projected slide changes to a set of three photographs set in a horizontal fashion. “He did his first victims in nine days, and then nothing for eighteen months.” Change slide. “Then there was another sounder of three in just as many days, all of them in Baltimore. I use the term _sounders_ because it refers to a small group of pigs.” Deep breath. “That’s how he sees his victims; not as people, not as prey. Pigs.”

Three murdered girls, one of which he knows.

“Christa Lenz,” he says, hands in his pockets. “Sasha Braus.” _Deep breath._ “And FBI trainee Mikasa Ackerman.”

It becomes difficult to be subjective when someone who is considered family is among a long list of victims, but Eren wasn’t hired to be subjective. If anything, his ties to the case make him invaluable when rage and determination fueled by revenge are his reasons to get up each morning. 

They’re also the reason why he’s not official FBI; anger management issues and a concoction of haunting nightmares that make him prone to emotional and mental instability make the director hesitant to administer the test.

“As with the previous murders, organs were removed. The removal of organs and abdominal mutilations suggests someone with anatomical and surgical know-how.” He changes the slide again, and the image of his sister impaled by dozens of surgical tools causes no emotion to stir. “There is a distinct brutality.” 

This was done to her while she was alive -- her lungs were removed while she was still breathing.

“He…is an intelligent psychopath,” Eren falters, throat momentarily failing, the knot of his tie suddenly too harsh against his Adam’s apple. “He is not _crazy_ , he knows what he is doing and he is perfectly aware of the consequences. The Ripper revels in it, in leading us around like mice in search of exotic cheese.”

Three.

He kills in sounders of three.

Mikasa was the third.

_Three people in an office -- a very small office, and Eren begins feeling a little claustrophobic. Used to being able to fade into the background while the usual squabbles went on around him, he’s thrown off by the pair of eyes that track his every move. The man doesn’t even bother being discreet, smiling so charmingly Eren could throw up._

_Nile Dok’s shuffling of case files catches Eren’s attention, pulling him away from the paranoid warnings his head tries lodging into place. The man, often severe and irritable, looks two levels cooler than what he would deem comfortable. Amusement pushes up his thin eyebrows as he regards both Eren and the man watching Eren._

_“Not fond of eye contact, are you?” the man asks, lacing his fingers together._

_Pushing his glasses up his nose, Eren sneers, choosing to stare at the man’s elegant hands instead. They’re the hands of a doctor well into his practice, but unmarried. No ring and no pale marks on the finger._

_“Eyes are distracting,” Eren says, noticing the expensive watch. “You see too much, you don’t see enough. And it’s hard to focus when you’re thinking, um, ‘Oh, those whites are really white’, or, ‘He must have hepatitis’, or, ‘Oh, is that a burst vein?’ So, yeah, I try to avoid eyes whenever possible.”_

_The doctor stares directly as his eyes once he shuts up in the form of a blatant challenge, but his glasses are on and therefore Eren feels as safe as possible._

_The doctor thinks he owns the place._

_Arrogance. He hides it, but not enough to sell it. He wants people to see his arrogance, his own esteem and sense of self-worth._

_“I imagine what you see and learn touches everything else in your mind. Your values and decency are present yet shocked at your associations, appalled at your dreams. No forts in the bone arena of your skull for things you love.” There’s an almost rhythmic element to the doctor’s words, lulling in a rich accent Eren can’t place. All he knows is that the only appalling thing here are his words._

_“Whose profile are you working on?” Hands on the armrests, Eren pushes himself forward indignantly. “Whose profile is he working on?” This one he directs at Nile._

_“I’m sorry, Eren,” the doctor says. “Observing is what I do. I can’t shut mine off anymore than you can shut yours off.”_

_A pleasant smile, handsome wrinkles around his eyes and suddenly Eren is lured and trapped by puddles of blue that simply end. There is no depth to them, no promises or lies or truths. All he sees is a steel wall that allows nothing in or out and there’s something visceral wrong about that. Eren’s empathy tells him that there’s more but it can’t show him like it’s done for every other person he’s ever met._

_“Please, don’t psychoanalyze me. You won’t like me when I’m psychoanalyzed.” Frigid words accompany Eren’s scowl, uncaring of what his boss would think of him for being rude to a high-end psychiatrist. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go give a lecture on psychoanalyzing.”_

“Eren?”

Eren starts, blinks the blur out of his eyes before he turns around.

The lecture hall is empty, the projector is off, and his suitcase is open over his desk.

He blinks again, completely taken off guard when waves of nausea grip at his throat. Something is missing, something important. The train of thought he was just following has evaporated, along with whatever happened between the thought of Mikasa and now.

He swallows back a burning ball of bile.

“Um,” the words die away, confusion cutting off his ability to function.

“Are you alright?”

Eren looks up at the man casually leaning against the door, arms crossed over his chest.

“Why you ask?” he says instead, slipping his hands into his pockets to hide their shaking. Eren covers his collapse against the edge of his desk as a tired slump and cants his head to the side to admire his visitor. “I thought you were on location.”

The way the man moves makes him appear as a force to be reckoned with, even with his short stature. The sharp angles of his face make him attractive despite the severity of his features and the perpetual apathy painted on his eyes and mouth. He’s dressed smartly as if he’s stepped out of an office rather than a crime scene.

“The team and I arrived last night.” He doesn’t offer an apology for not letting Eren know soon, which grates on his nerves for a wide variety of reasons.

“Convenient timing,” Eren says, offering a sarcastic smile. “Throw me to the wolves while you poke at dead bodies.”

“Erwin’s hardly a wolf.”

“He tried to build a psych profile while I was sitting in Nile’s office, Levi.”

“He’s a psychiatrist. It’s what he does.”

“If this is your way of saying you care about my health, then don’t.” Eren looks away, hunching his shoulders before relaxing them again, realizing that he’s acting like a child. “You made your _professional curiosity_ quite clear to me when I woke up to an empty bed.”

The tiny remnants of warmth on Levi’s face vanish in the blink of an eye. Now all that’s left is a chilling facade he only ever saves for the field. “Do you want me to apologize for sleeping with you?”

“No, I want you to quit fucking with me and tell me what the hell it is you want,” snaps Eren. He immediately regrets it, noting that he may be digging his own grave rather than proving that he is fit to do his job.

The shift of Levi’s head is minute and sparks honest dread in Eren’s gut. The lost time he can deal with, as well as the sleep walking and phantom sounds coming from his chimney, but a pissed off superior could very well cost him his spot at the academy and with it the last shreds of his stability. Eren needs an anchor to reality, and he doesn’t give much thought to the fact that looking at traumatizing murder scenes is what does it for him.

He doesn’t want to nudge that door.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t just hear that,” Levi says.

“Look, I--”

“Erwin asked me to inform you to stop by his office on Friday at nine. He tried calling but you wouldn’t answer your phone. He has a twenty-four-hour cancellation policy.”

The way he says it informs Eren that he is, under no circumstances, at liberty to cancel his appointment.

They stand in stagnant silence, Levi staring him down while Eren tries his hardest not to drown under the weight of his discomfort. Hange had warned him about this, that sleeping with a superior would only make things unnecessarily complicated. 

“Do you really have any faith that Dr. Smith could cure me?”

“In this line of work faith means jack squat and you know it.”

With that, Levi turns on his heels and walks out of the lecture hall with an aura that reeks of regret and self-deprecation. Moments like these leave Eren in disgust, offended by his ability to feel the roiling emotions that are so harshly locked away by carefully constructed walls. Most of the time, Eren feels like he’s intruding in the most intimate areas of people’s lives.

But this curse is also a part of what makes him such a good profiler.

He’ll waddle through a horde of demons, empathizing with every one of them if it means reaching the innermost circle of Hell to grab Lucifer by his fine silks and bury his evil wickedness. Eren will plow through if it means saving lives. He will bring the Chesapeake Ripper to his knees, destroy every last fiber of his wretched existence.

However, first, he has to survive his therapy sessions with Dr Smith and not get himself fired.


	2. Cœur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day #2: Sport

There’s a body in the tub and Eren recalls at least half a dozen horror movies with similar scenes, complete with shower curtain wrapped around the head and disarrayed hotel bedsheets.

The room smells faintly of potpourri and blood, but scenting out the presence of individuals has never been his strong suit. Seeing, on the other hand, is his golden ticket. Levi likes calling it intuition, this thing he does when he’s able to make impossible connections that are often true, but Eren just calls it looking at the evidence and thinking out of the box.

“Everybody out,” Levi says, and it’s a command that is never taken lightly by the team.

People file out of the hotel room, but one of their forensics isn’t too happy about it. “I’m telling you, boss. Has all the similarities of a Ripper strike.”

“I’ll ask for your opinion when I want it, Bossard,” he says, driving him out with his presence alone. “Smith, you stay.”

Eren turns away from the tub, giving Levi an exasperated look. “I can’t do it with him here.”

“Eren.”

“It’s fine,” Erwin says, his smile apologetic. “I wouldn’t want to obstruct the process.” Awkwardly running a hand over the front of his suit jacket, Erwin turns around and heads outside.

Once the door shuts, Eren braces himself.

“What the fuck was that about, Jaeger? You said you two had gotten past your animosity.” Levi hovers close by but is mindful to keep a respectful distance or else Eren shut down.

“We have,” he explains, wringing his hands as he turns back to stare at the body. “I’m just not comfortable enough around him to let him see me do this.”

Levi crosses his arms and it’s obvious that he wants to continue the argument, but he understands that they have more pressing matters at hand. Casting a glance at the man splayed in the bathtub, he nods his head.

“Tell me what you see, Eren.”

The trembling of his shoulders stops when he takes in an involuntarily deep breath, inhaling the gore around him. 

He removes his glasses.

Time slows and doors are unwilling to shut, leaving him wide open to the violence presented to him like an offering. This is a gift to him, wrapped in plastic and deposited in a porcelain white container.

_One swing of the fluorescent pendulum._

_Levi is gone._

_Two swings of the fluorescent pendulum._

_The blood recedes, the gaping wound on the body’s chest closes, and it pushes itself up to its feet, staggering out of the tub._

_Eren watches the scene in reverse, taking enough steps back until his back is to the door._

_The body is now a man dressed in casual wear who takes the phone from the bed and presses it to his ear. He’s smiling, laughing at a joke Eren doesn’t hear. The man holds up a hand and gestures for him to wait a moment._

_Three swings of the fluorescent pendulum._

_Time stops reversing and launches itself forward._

_Eren closes the door behind him as the man gestures him to wait and laughs, ends a call and throws the phone onto the bed. He turns to give a suggestive wink, slowly removing his jacket._

_“I wait for him to undress in front of me, his body language professional and tense. He doesn’t know me, but he’s invited me to spend the night.”_

_Eren smiles, tight and distant as he closes the distance between them. Knuckles drag sultrily against the man’s cheek, making his skin color._

_“The scalpel I carry with me is plunged into his internal jugular vein.”_

_With lightning speed, Eren draws a scalpel from his pant pocket and stabs the neck._

_The man pushes him away and in a panic wrenches the weapon out, causing the initial spray of blood to soak the taupe colored wallpaper. He backpedals, stumbling over his feet to get away but he doesn’t get very far, tripping and falling over the transition of carpet to bathroom tile._

_Picking up the scalpel, Eren wrenches him onto his back and makes an incision over his heart. When the blood is too much, he picks up the man and gently places him in the tub, where he dies choking on his blood. Dismayed but undeterred, Eren continues to make his way through tissue and sinew, in search for the heart he wants to take._

Eren resurfaces near the point of hyperventilation, the dreamscape he’s created so real he can barely crawl himself out of it.

He wills his knees to stop their quivering and gut to stop its churning, but it’s no use. Instead, he puts his glasses back on and tries to anchor his thoughts to the now. He’s still standing in the hotel room, and the body minus one heart is still in the tub.

Sweat slicks every part of him and he needs to get out despite not wanting to. He needs to disassociate, put up entire dams between him and the mind of the monster who did this.

“He, um, he would have p-picked up his assailant at some sort of cafe, or something.” It would explain the no forced entry. “A bar, yeah. They were strangers.”

Levi doesn’t speak up immediately, waiting for Eren to finish. When he doesn’t, he steps into his line of sight. “Is it the Ripper?”

Eren clenches and unclenches his hands, sweat pooling uncomfortably within the blue gloves he’d been given before stepping into the crime scene. “Looks like, but the mutilation occurred post mortem. If it was the Ripper, he died before the procedure was done. Which is something that’s never happened to our guy before.”

“So, it isn’t him.”

“Oh no, it is,” Eren says, thoughts running rampant in his head. “But I can’t tell if he was clumsy -- which is unlikely -- or if he was distracted.”

“Where’s the field kabuki, then?”

“I don’t think this was supposed to be an art piece. If it was, then this is only the prelude… like, uh, the opening act of something much… more elaborate.”

“And if it’s not?”

Eren licks his lips, turning to Levi with a frown. “Then he’s hunting for sport.”

The gravity of what he’s insinuating does not go ignored, Levi’s jaw clenching. He looks like he’s about to say something then doesn’t, turning to the body and then back at Eren as if he’s trying and failing to reconcile the information. “You’re telling me that our killer got a lot more dangerous.”

Eren desperately wishes that weren’t the case. “Yeah. I am.”

Uncharacteristically, Levi burrows into his thick coat like a cat that’s been sprayed with water. “Fuck this shit.” Turning away from the scene, he heads for the door but stops. “If this isn’t the first time he’s killed like this--”

“God knows how extensive the Chesapeake Rippers’ vic list really is,” Eren says, finishing it for him.

With the door yanked open with strength born out of sheer frustration, Levi sidesteps Aurou who was most likely eavesdropping on the conversation.

The hotel room fills up and Eren takes the opportunity to show himself out.

He briefly catches a glimpse of Levi talking to both Erwin and Nile, but doesn’t bother approaching them. Seeing has left him worse for wear, in need of a good shower, a handful of aspirins and a long sleep.


	3. Loup Piège

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day #3: Loneliness

Seeing Dr Smith’s ID flash on his phone is a surprise Eren is unsure about. He’d been waiting for Levi to call since he’s running late for their not-date, and seeing the name displayed brightly against his generic phone wallpaper makes unease settle in his gut.

What if something happened?

Nile is the person to most likely call in case of an emergency, but Eren wouldn’t put it past the doctor to take it upon himself. He’s a psychiatrist. He knows a thing or two about grief counseling, maybe.

The phone continues to vibrate over the coffee table in the living room and Eren continues to stare at it from him spot on the couch. His dogs are barking in unison, all seven of them, but they’re nice enough to quiet down when he loudly whistles for their attention.

The vibrating eventually stops and it’s only then that Eren pushes up to his feet and makes for the kitchen in search of something to drink. He decides on coffee.

While it brews, Eren needlessly organizes the counters and puts away the dishes. Levi is never late, which means he isn’t going to show. He doesn’t let that disappoint him considering that their tumultuous relationship is based on disappointments, but it still hurts.

Living in a secluded area near the woods, forty five minutes away from civilization and an hour’s drive from the academy, Eren considers this place a sanctuary. Its winters are harsh and its solitude harsher, but it grants him a warped sense of peace.

As an honest to God hermit he doesn’t have many friends, only acquaintances he sees once every couple of months. Armin and Hange from forensics are pretty neat people, but they aren’t the type he’d go out of his way to visit. Mostly they just wander into his lecture hall to ask him to review a piece of evidence or another.

Aside from them, not a lot of people appreciate or enjoy Eren’s lesser common personality quirks. His rashness, coupled with his job that mostly involves thinking about killing people, makes him unlikeable at best and necessary to avoid at worst. He’s violent, absentminded, and not very good at carrying conversations.

Through the ugly haze of Eren’s life, Levi has been the only person with enough disinterest to pay no heed to his eccentric traits. There’s a balance between them where neither suffocates the other and it works for them, but the majority of times, their deep-rooted need for space carves a hole in their tapestry.

At the moment he can think of a handful of reasons as to why Levi hasn’t showed or called: work, forgetfulness--

Eren frowns at the mug he takes from the cabinet.

Truth is, Levi is just like Eren, only his workload is twice as time consuming.

Taking milk from the fridge, he heats it up until it’s enough to not be considered cold and pours in four sugar packets. His taking his first sip when the phone starts ringing again.

The dogs don’t bother barking this time, all of them lounging in different parts of the living room. Eren almost steps on one of their tails as he maneuvers his way through his mess of a floor.

Heaving a sigh of relief, he answers, “Thought you weren’t even going to bother by now.”

_“Nile needed me at Quantico to run over the Ripper files after last week’s stint. Lost track of time.”_

He sounds tired, and Eren involuntarily drops down onto the couch. “It’s cool. Back home yet?”

The distant sound of sirens and city life filter through the call, and that’s the final tell-tale sign that Levi has no inclination to drive over to Eren’s place. _“Stopping to pick up dinner.”_

Silence.

Eren looks down at his clean jeans and fairly decent button down. He’d even combed his hair. “You need more protein in your diet.”

The noise Levi makes is almost amused. _“No salad today. I’ll go for a burger and a milkshake.”_ A trip to the gym is already scheduled for tomorrow, Eren reckons.

“Good,” he says, reaching down to pet the head that rests over his knee. Winston is looking up at him with beady eyes, probably waiting for a snack. “I have to feed the dogs so I’ll let you go.”

As far as lies go it isn’t a very good one, and he knows that Levi knows. _“Alright. Stay out of trouble and lock your damn doors. No more midnight strolls in your underwear. It’s fucking freezing out.”_

Eren hangs up soon after, letting his head hit the back of the couch with a defeated sigh.

He isn’t surprised. He isn’t even angry. He’s just resigned himself to his fate.

This no longer qualifies as being stood up, considering they’ve done this to each other more times that either of them can count. There’s always something there, something more pressing and urgent. At times, Eren just bails because he doesn’t want the company. It wouldn’t surprise him if Levi does the same. Regardless, he doesn’t resent him for it.

They’re simply two damaged adults struggling to be normal in a world that is everything but.

Eren idly thumbs at the phone screen, giving his mind free reign of his thoughts.

He should go out for a walk with the dogs in hopes that the cold will dispel the misery in his bones. Maybe he can have a date night with the bottle of whiskey he has somewhere near his bed. There’s a folder filled with case files in his suitcase; he can always clock in some work before bed and take tomorrow a little easier.

Instead, Eren finds himself unlocking his phone and bringing up his missed calls log.

He may not be in the mood for therapy, but even Dr Smith has to know some level of casual conversation. Let this be a testament to how desperate Eren is to be rid of the echo of voices in his mind -- not all of them his.

Besides, it would be rude to not return the call, and everyone knows how pissy Smith can be when people are rude.

The doctor picks up on the fourth ring, and Eren marvels at how different his voice sounds through the phone when he says, _“Smith residence.”_

“Hello,” Eren says, nearly mutters, before wishing to smack himself. “I found your missed call.”

_“Eren.”_ The single word holds both a greeting and a delight and Eren wants to hang up. _“I’m pleased you decided to get back to me.”_

“I’d be a dick not to.” He grimaces at his word choice. Although Smith has never expressed a discomfort towards crude language, Eren has grown to feel disrespectful when he uses it in his presence. “Is there anything you need, Doctor?”

Eren can hear the sound of something lightly striking glass. _“I was hoping you’d grace me with your presence for dinner this evening.”_

The invitation is so casual Eren immediately grows suspicious. “At your place?”

_“Of course.”_

“Why?”

_“Why not?”_ The words hold a hint of amusement to them, and Eren lets his shackles down. _“I could use the company. Normally, I’d invite Nile or Levi, but I was informed that they’re currently on their way to catch a flight to Georgia.”_

A punch to the gut would have been less painful.

Eren swallows around the tight knot in his throat. “Are they? I wasn’t aware.”

_“According to Ms Rall, they’re following up on a possible lead.”_ The sound of something crisp being chopped. _“I assumed you’d be available.”_

An eerie sort of blankness settles over Eren’s mind as he processes Smith’s words. “No therapy session.”

At this, Smith does laugh. _“Or course not, Eren. This is my home. I tend to keep my personal and professional life separated as much as possible.”_

“And you do this by inviting your patient over for dinner.”

_“You’re not officially my patient, are you?”_

Eren worries his bottom lip while looking down at his jeans. He’ll have to change into something a little less casual, considering that nothing Smith ever does can be considered casual. “Guess I’m not.”

_“Your answer?”_

Licking his lips, Eren thinks about it. Staying here will only prove to be self-destructive considering he now knows that Levi lied to him for whatever reason. If anything, he could use a little intelligent conversation to stave off the choking loneliness that seems to settle above him like a storm cloud.

“I’ll be there in a little over an hour.”


	4. Mange-Moi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #4: Persistence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's the ultimate display of trust? Two cannibals giving each other head.

Doctor Erwin Smith’s household is just as pretentious as his office in Baltimore. It’s large, with a surprisingly modern interior as opposed to its colonial architecture. Immaculately clean, Eren is left to wonder if he somehow played a hand in Levi’s own neurosis.

The idea causes a stray thought to lodge into place, one that leaves Eren a little off.

“How long did you two date?” he asks, removing his coat while standing in the foyer. 

Erwin takes it and hangs it on the rack before leading the way down a short hallway and into his study. If he’s troubled by the question, he doesn’t show it.

“Four months, if memory serves.”

The room’s walls are painted a deep red, its high ceiling a pale beige. The furniture is a play on both colors, an eccentric combination of Italian and the American Midwest. On the far wall is a crackling fireplace that bathes the area in a comfortable twilight that fights back the bitter cold.

“We were mostly experimental,” Erwin says, pouring wine into two glasses Eren fails to see where he got from.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Eren takes the offered glass and sits on a divan when Erwin invites him to. “Levi is as far from experimental as one can possibly be.” He watches Erwin sit across from him, crossing his legs in a way that he’d almost deem elegant. “Trust me.”

Erwin takes in the scent of his drink before putting the glass to his lips. He shuts his eyes, basking in the taste. “Sylvain Cathiard Romanee-Saint-Vivant Grand Cru,” he says, mostly to himself. “I consulted in the Dollmaker case several years back. Levi was new on the force.”

Vaguely recalling the case, Eren takes a sip of his wine. It’s good, but that’s about the only thing he can say about it. His palate isn’t exactly refined. “He’s mentioned it in passing. Never mentioned you, though.”

“It was meant to be one night,” he says, putting down the glass on the table beside his seat. “Crime scenes tend to ignite our innermost and more primal needs. Obscurely, those society refer to as taboo. More commonly, the need to eat and fuck. We did both.”

“That’s comforting.” It isn’t. “Perfectly normal.”

Erwin’s smile is miniscule, nothing but a small shift of the lip. “Our accord was to keep matters physical. We tried for a relationship, failed, and then went back to our old habits.”

The way he speaks makes Eren shift in his seat. His accent curls his words into a near palpable seduction all the while keeping a vague hint of disinterest. This is his professional facade, one he’s yet to drop, and Eren wonders why, if this is a social call, he insists on treating Eren like something alien.

In essence, the very air around the man is alien. From the gaudy suits to the perfect partition of his hair, the impeccable posture, the grace of his hands as they fuss over the tiniest of things. Eren tries to dig his way into the doctor’s thoughts, to see just what the hell it is that this is man is hiding. This man who appears to be wearing a person suit.

The psychological landscapes are foreign to Eren, but it’s easy to assume that Smith has created a persona to detach himself of the dozens of woeful tales he must hear a day. He and Eren aren’t as different in that aspect. One welcomes the intrusion while the other keeps it as far as humanly possible.

_Arrogant, narcissistic, god complex._

The way he holds his wine glass and drinks. How he looks at Eren -- like a fascinating specimen rather than a dinner guest. 

Hidden.

There’s something hidden deep, deep down that no one can reach because they’re all too afraid to see. They’re not afraid to reach in, but they’re afraid of whatever might reach out.

“You’re not normal, are you, Dr. Smith?” Eren makes no attempt at keeping his questions buried. Enough therapy sessions have taught him that there’s no hiding from Erwin’s keen stare; no use in lying when he’ll pick the lie strand by strand until he’s reached the tiny pit of truth.

“Who amongst us is really, as you call it, normal?” Erwin licks his lips, the tension melting away from his shoulders. “Nature and nurture. The antisocial and the overly social. For those of us who observe, how are we to judge what is considered normal and what is not?”

_Puppeteer. Chessmaster._

“You tell me, Doctor.”

“No,” he says, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward in his seat, elbows on his knees and chin in his hands. “You tell me, Eren.”

_Beast._

Eren grips the fabric of his pants, staring at the rim of his glasses as to not look him in the eye. He’s pushing for something unnecessary simply because he wants to hear Eren talk, he wants to gauge just how well the empathy works, how deep it runs. 

Mutual curiosity of this kind is dangerous, or maybe it’s a gift. To put on the skin of a man who is made of steel and rock -- who is unwavering in his decisions, determined, clear headed, driven, _hungry_ \-- is like a drink of fresh water in an endless desert.

“You have a remarkable ability,” Erwin says, only the lilt of his words telling of any sort of genuine fascination. “Being able to take in the essence of the minds you look into, to become.”

“Remarkable, yeah. Welcome? Not so much.” His fingers clench and release the fabric as his heartbeat begins to flutter for reasons unfamiliar. “You don’t know what it is to feel the things I see.” A shuddering sigh. “You don’t know what it is to see your sister impaled, to see yourself impale her and feel...”

“Tell me how it felt.”

Eren squeezes his eyes shut, presses his fingers to their corners as the huff of a nightmarish stag ruffles the curls at the base of his skull. Darkness encroaches upon him, casting hues of black and gray over the very air he breathes.

“I felt satisfaction.” The words are but a mere whisper. “It felt… good. I felt, um, in control.”

The heat sears him.

Three beats of hooves over wooden floors.

“Dealing with my empathy, it was never easy, but I’ve been able to drown out the inky darkness that clings to my fingers like blood. Turning it on and off. I was able to turn it on and off when Mikasa was killed -- as if she were any other body out there. One moment I was the Chesapeake Ripper -- cold, brutal, sadistic; no, not satisfaction, he isn’t that simple -- then I wasn’t.” Eren rubs slightly quivering hands over the soft stubble of his cheeks. “I felt no different than the Ripper.”

Heavy air lingers between them, only the crackling of the fireplace permeating the sound of their breathing. 

“Did you feel the need to honor her?” Erwin licks his lips, his posture so casually proper Eren wants to scream. He assumes the doctor’s heard his fair share of lunacy, but it leaves him grasping at nothing. It’s a feeling similar to jumping off a precipice with the faith that something will be there to break the fall and to find that there’s nothing.

“The Ripper doesn’t honor his victims. He consumes them. Like pigs.”

“Are you hungry, Eren?”

It’s like driving on a freeway and suffering a head-on collision with a building.

Eren scrunches his brow, keeps his eyes carefully set on the rim of his glasses. “What?”

“Dinner will be ready shortly.”

It makes perfect sense considering that’s what he came here for: dinner. Rumor has it that Dr. Smith is an excellent cook, with his creations as bizarre as the decor that surrounds him. The jump from one subject to the other, however. An easy way out of a difficult conversation? But Erwin isn’t rude, and neither is he cowardly when it comes to a subject the man has openly declared fascinating.

Yes, Eren is hungry, but the hunger that lingers low in his gut is different than usual.

The hairs along his arms stand on end as he takes in the crease of Smith’s collar against a pale neck, the paisley tie that looks ludicrous when layered over the plaid suit. It’s garish and appalling but Erwin makes it work; an accessory to his eccentricity.

He’s by no means an unattractive man. He’s handsome, wealthy, overwhelmingly charming, intelligent.

Aside from his stint with Levi, Eren wonders why Erwin isn’t married.

“Good,” he says, finding his throat scratchy. There’s a pulse he can keep track off right underneath his wrists. Heat is slithering up his ankles, calves, thighs, leaving him short of breath because suddenly, Eren _wants_ with frightful ferocity. “Actually? I’m not sure if the hunger is my own or if I’m echoing you, Dr. Smith.”

The mask slips if only for a moment, and Eren sees it. He sees the excitement, the lust, the curiosity, just a sliver of persistence that says he’ll push if he doesn’t get his way.

Time moves so fast after that, with Erwin rising to his feet and crossing the small space between them. Eren watches with bated breath as the man kneels between his legs, his posture never breaking and confidence never wavering.

“May I?” he asks.

“This is an unorthodox form of therapy.”

“We’re just two men having a conversation.”

A very strange conversation that should not be had, but still happens.

Eren is left wondering if he should blame the empathy for ripping down all semblance of disinterest, forcing his mind to adapt Erwin’s wants, or if he should thank it.

He goes with the latter when thin lips engulf his cock with ease born from experience, fingertips digging into the fabric of Eren’s pants. His technique may be refined but the sounds he makes are not, and Eren is left squirming in his seat, fingers carding through lusciously soft blond hair.

Calm, composed, indulgent.

The stag watches from its perch by the door while he orgasms -- brutal and vicious -- down Erwin’s throat. The doctor doesn’t complain.

When dinner is served near an hour later, Eren eats like a man starved.

“Bon appetit,” says Dr. Smith, setting down his glass and smiling like a shark as he spears his _magret_.

Eren smiles.


End file.
